


Short Hannibal One-Shots

by Rambling_Things



Category: Hannibal (TV)
Genre: Angst, Canon-Typical Violence, Fluff, Hurt/Comfort, Idiots in Love, M/M, No Plot/Plotless, One Shot Collection, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Tooth-Rotting Fluff, Will Graham Needs a Hug, hannibal's still an asshole most of the time, needlessly pretentious dialogue
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-02-10
Updated: 2021-02-11
Packaged: 2021-03-16 21:13:37
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 2
Words: 885
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29338854
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Rambling_Things/pseuds/Rambling_Things
Summary: A soon-to-be collection of one-off Hannibal fics that I mostly write for fun and practice. Eventually I might do more fleshed out stories and stuff, but we'll see.
Relationships: Will Graham/Hannibal Lecter
Comments: 1
Kudos: 9





	1. The Sound of Music

**Author's Note:**

> I added Chopin's Prelude in E-Minor to my hannigram playlist and wrote this. Literally just an excuse to make Will wax poetic about the definition of loneliness. Enjoy.

Hannibal's hands dance along the keys, filling the room with melodious sound.  
Here, he was alone.  
The gentle tapping of his fingertips on the harpsichord is lost as the tune crescendos.  
His hands fly across them almost feverishly, winding the hold of the music tighter around himself. Encapsulated in the vibrations of the strings.  
Abruptly, he stills. He turns.

"Hello Will, to what do I owe the pleasure?" His voice measured, more observation than genuine inquiry.  
Will falters, barely crossing the threshold into the room.  
He runs an anxious hand through his hair. He inhales deeply, answering quietly in the absence of the music.  
"I– I just, I wanted to see you,"he clears his throat, "More accurately– I didn't want to be alone." 

Hannibal slides to one side on the bench, motioning at Will to sit beside him.  
Will slowly walks over to him, footsteps loud in the almost empty room.  
He sits.  
Hannibal makes no movement to acknowledge Will's appearance, his hands going back to rest on the keys of the harpsichord.  
He does not play, not yet.

"Is it really that you do not wish to be alone, or do you not wish to be lonely, Will?" He asks, words harsh, but gentle in tone.  
Will contemplates the question.  
What is loneliness, really? The absence of human interaction? One can be a hermit and not be lonely, perhaps it is the yearning to feel as though you belong.  
He's not sure how to answer, so he doesn't.

Will let's the question linger, let's it spread through the room until it dissipates into silence.  
He scoots closer to Hannibal, and lets his head fall onto his shoulder.  
Hannibal resumes playing.  
The silence is broken by the light notes of the harpsichord. Will closes his eyes, letting the music push all thought from his mind.  
He takes a deep breath, smells Hannibal's cologne mingling with his own aftershave.  
He smiles. Hannibal plays.


	2. Gunpowder and Lead

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Will rocks Hannibal's shit, as he should. Title from Gunpowder and Lead by Miranda Lambert, because she's definitely in Will's spotify wrapped.

Will pointed the shotgun at the door handle and pulled the trigger.  
The wood exploded in a shower of splinters, the knob clattering to the ground. He pulled his foot back, and kicked the door open.  
It slammed against the doorstop with a boom.  
He marched through Hannibal’s house with purpose, making a beeline for the kitchen.

Will found him there, standing elbow-deep in some unknown meat.  
He seemed surprised at Will's sudden arrival, both of them staring at each other for a moment.  
The air was still, neither of them daring to move an inch.  
Will’s labored breathing the only sound in the room.  
Lightning fast, Hannibal’s bloody hand snatched a knife off the cutting board, before he vaulted over the counter at Will.

Will dove sideways, toward the fridge, rolling on his side to keep Hannibal in view.  
He quickly got to his feet, back to the refrigerator.  
Hannibal stood in front of him like a beast, chef whites rolled up to his elbows and smeared in blood, clutching the knife.  
Will leveled the shotgun at his chest, before moving toward him slowly.

“You motherfucker, I should’ve done this the first time we met,” he spat the words with all the hatred and vitriol he could muster.  
Hannibal raised his arms in a placative gesture, hand still gripping the knife.  
He smiled in a crude facsimile of pity, filling his tone with concern.  
“Will, I”–he started, but Will surged forward, pressing the barrel of the shotgun directly to his sternum. 

“Shut your fucking mouth,” he snapped, ”I don’t want to hear another word out of you, Dr. Lecter. Or should I call you by your stage name, hm?”  
He pressed closer, wrapping his free hand around the knife in Hannibal’s, blade cutting into his palm.  
He sneered, lips curling harshly over his bared teeth. “Tell me, Mr. Ripper, how does this fucking taste?”

Will smashed his forehead into Hannibal’s nose, a sharp crack filling the air before Hannibal stumbled back, letting go of the knife in surprise.  
Will let the knife clatter to the floor, blood dripping down his forearm to coat his shirt.  
He rolled his neck, repositioning his grip on the shotgun to hold it with both hands.  
Hannibal wiped at the blood on his face, now flowing freely from his nose. 

He lunged at Will, snarling, but Will was prepared.  
He snapped his leg out, kicking Hannibal in the chest with his heel, using his momentum against him.  
He felt the snap of what he presumed were Hannibal’s ribs, before he fell to the floor.  
Hannibal groaned, curling inwards on himself as he hit the ground.  
Will walked over to Hannibal’s prone figure, keeping the shotgun trained on him. 

He looked at him for a moment, the untouchable Chesapeake Ripper, renowned psychiatrist Dr. Hannibal Lecter, now reduced to a bloody mess on his kitchen floor.  
Will felt a worrying pang of self-satisfaction, lips twisting into a grin as he stood over Hannibal.  
Hannibal looked up at him, face contorted in pain while blood dripped out of his open mouth. Each breath sputtering more droplets along his chin.  
He sat up slightly, eyes locking with Will’s.  
Will faltered a moment, but he shook his head, raising the gun to Hannibal’s forehead. 

“Go to hell, you pretentious bastard,” he whispered, finger finally squeezing the trigger with a bang.


End file.
